In Case of Emergency
by damonkeygirl
Summary: "Everyone's fine. Forget everything, about all of us. It's safer that way." Live moves on, sometimes cruelly, sometimes unfairly, but never without reason or plan. (Post Season Three Finale)
1. Chapter 1

_You are being watched. The government has a secret system, a Machine that spies on you every hour of every day._

* * *

><p><strong>Accessing feeds…<strong>  
><strong>Monitoring Asset: Fusco, Lionel P.<strong>

**New York Police Department, 8th Precinct**  
><strong>New York, New York<strong>  
><strong>April 21, 2014<strong>  
><strong>08:57:13 am<strong>

_Everyone's fine._

_Forget everything, about all of us. _

_It's safer this way. _

The note wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be. Fusco had found it carefully tucked underneath part of his keyboard when he'd come in that morning. The handwriting was clear, sharp, and he knew it had to be Reese's.

Today would have been the sixth day since he had heard from his vigilante counterpart. There'd been longer silences before, especially in the beginning, but this time Fusco knew something was different. He'd seen it in Reese's ace out on the street.

He'd heard it in the way he threw out concerns and questions. Talking about some trial and a machine. The usually cautious operative had let slip a couple of things he shouldn't have in his rush to find Finch, but what parts those were, Fusco didn't know.

'The machine' clearly was one of them. When he'd asked what Reese was talking about he had shut up real fast. Not that it mattered now.

Clearly, all of his questions didn't matter; _the last three years didn't matter_. Reese and Finch were gone and he was here wondering what the hell had happened.

Just a week ago he'd been up to his neck in it, even here in the precinct. He'd followed orders, unquestioning just like the faithful servant he was.

Now, at the end of the road, he couldn't decide if this was their way of punishing him, or thanking him.

In the end, it didn't matter. Fusco was as alone as he was when he'd starting working for Reese, perhaps even more so.

He couldn't know for sure, but instinctively he knew that no one was watching out for him anymore. There was no one checking in on his phone at all hours, listening to every word he spoke or heard. No tall shadow able to come to his aid in an emergency.

As much as he'd resisted this _job _in the beginning, now he felt like a big chunk of his life was missing. He couldn't help people anymore, not the way they did.

Being a homicide detective was pretty far removed from what he'd been able to help accomplish. Solving crimes after the fact simply didn't save very many lives.

"Hey Fusco, body dropped up in Queens." A passing detective broke his reverie and Fusco snapped his head up.

His hand crumbled the note into a little ball and he shoved it in his pocket.

He'd burn it when he got home.

* * *

><p><strong>Accessing domestic Surveillance…<strong>

**Fusco Residence**  
><strong>New York, New York<strong>  
><strong>April 28, 2014<strong>  
><strong>20:56:43<strong>

It was late by the time Fusco got home that night, but Lee was with is mother, so he didn't really care too much about it. What he currently cared about was the leftover pizza box he had in his fridge.

The moment he lifted in off the shelf he knew something was wrong, the box was too heavy for the half a pizza he'd left in it. Setting it on the counter he flipped the lid up.

On the left, was half a pizza. On the right, a brown envelope, a white piece of folded paper taped to it. Fusco ripped it off and unfolded it. There was one line of messy, scribbley handwriting, not the neat and precise letters of the last message. Not the same author then.

_In case of emergency._

Keys, passports, IDs, wallets, a stack of money, and manila folder fell out when he dumped out the contents onto his kitchen table. The IDs had pictures of him, Lee, and his ex-wife.

The folder was full of documents; birth certificates, diplomas, social security cards, a marriage license and subsequent divorce paperwork. There was an undated recommendation letter from the chief of police in Portland addressed to the Chicago commissioner.

The deeper he dug the more information he found. Someone wanted him to have an escape plan, and he had a fair idea who.

But the whole thing couldn't help but pique his interest; he knew the four unlikely people who had become his friends were deep into piles of trouble and illegality. But he also knew they were good at what they did. What the hell could have happened to force them all away?

What were they all involved in that would necessitate providing him_ and_ _his family _with a cover identity?

When Fusco finished going through all the documents he packed them back up in the envelope and took it to his safe, placing it next to the other mysterious and unexplained things he'd come to collect in the past week.

_Forget everything, about all of us._

_It's safer this way._

He'd play along, quietly following orders.

And then he'd forget. For now.

* * *

><p><strong>REVIEWING ARCHIVAL FOOTAGE...<strong>

**DEVIANT**

**NAME: SOTO, STEPHAN E.**

**CURRENT LOCATION:**  
><strong>40.717235, -74.000125<strong>

**AFFILIATION: VIGILANCE**  
><strong>ACCESSORY TO TERRORIST ACT<strong>

**CONCLUSION: THREAT**  
><strong>RECOMMENDATION: ELIMINATE<strong>

**NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT, 8th PRECINCT**  
><strong>FR HALL CAM 3<strong>  
><strong>DATE: APRIL 15, 2014<strong>  
><strong>TIME: 08:26:45<strong>

Two gunshots went off in quick succession. A police officer and the man he was escorting collapsed to the floor. The shooter never stopped walking.

Three men burst into the hallway from a side door. Two uniformed police officers took off down the hall away from the injured men. The third, a detective in a suit dropped to the wounded criminal first.

"I need a bus!" The man shouted, addressing the newcomers arriving on the scene.

Another detective in a suit dropped to his knees in front of the fallen officer.

Accessing facial recognition…

"Come on kid." Detective Fusco was muttering to the injured Soto. He'd pulled off his suit jacket and was using it to staunch the blood flow.

An alarming amount of blood was pooling on the ground.

Fusco checked for a pulse and didn't find one. "Damn it!" He opened Soto's mouth and tilted his head back before giving him two rescue breaths and began CPR.

Three feet away, Detective Kane was having a similar misfortune with Officer Tomson.

Two minutes later EMTs ran on to the scene.

One of the men dropped down across from Detective Fusco. "How long have you been doing CPR?"

"Two minutes, he was shot maybe two three minutes before that."

"We'll take it from here Detective."

Within a short period of time the medical technicians had both victims on stretchers and were wheeling them out of the station.

Detective Fusco shared a look with Kane before looking towards one of the other assembled men. "Any luck with the shooter?"

"He slipped away."

"We're in the middle of a fuckin' police station, how the hell'd he get away?" Fusco didn't wait for an answer. "Get access to those cameras, now!"

**OPERATION STATUS: UNKNOWN**

**THREAT TO ASSET: 97.3%**

**RECOMMENDATION: SUBVERT**

A group of detectives walked down to the security office and crowded around the monitors.

One of the security technicians moved away from the screen. "There's nothing to see. It looks like the cameras went offline in the whole building two minutes before." She pointed to the windows of static.

**DATE: APRIL 15, 2014**  
><strong>TIME: 13:31:38<strong>

**OPERATION STATUS: THREAT NEUTRALIZED**

**NEW TARGETS IDENTIFIED**

**THREAT TO OPERATIONS: 1%**

**THREAT TO SYSTEM: 1%**

**THREAT TO ASSET: 9%**

**CONCLUSION: POSSIBLE THREAT**

**RECOMMENDATION: DISREGARD**


	2. Chapter 2

**July 1, 2014  
>17:39:02<strong>

**Monitoring Goodwin, Frank E. …  
>Threat of Violence: 89.4%<br>Timeframe: 2-4 Weeks  
>Category: Relevant<strong>

**Status of Primary Operations: Off-Line  
>Status of Secondary Operations: On-Line<br>Probability of Secondary Operations Success: 12.9%  
>Probability of Loss of Secondary Operations Asset: 74.5%<br>Status of Analog Interface: Operation Already Assigned**

**Conclusion: Continue to Monitor Threat**

* * *

><p><strong>Monitoring Asset Alias: Shaw, Sameen…<strong>

**Galleysburg, New York  
>July 8, 2014<br>04:12:12**

The morning was already beginning to glow with pre-dawn light when Shaw went out for her run. Even after three months here in Galleysburg, Shaw couldn't help but feel claustrophobic, the town was too small. After she'd been her a week everyone knew her name.

Then again, maybe the Machine wanted it that way. She'd stopped trying to figure out why the Machine sent her _here_, of all places. There were a few theories, but that's all they were.

The town was peaceful, idyllic, and downright boring.

The people here were far too trusting. Most of the details and paperwork Root had provided about her cover identity were unnecessary. No one here cared.

Thank god she still got to carry a gun, one of the advantages to being Deputy Sheriff. Not that she would have stopped doing so anyway, but now it didn't need to be discrete.

It'd had crossed through her mind more than once to wonder what had happened to the previous Deputy. Shaw'd decided she didn't need to know.

A quick burst of static bursting in her ear almost caused Shaw to trip.

"Damn!" She swore. She'd forgotten the earpiece had been there. She'd been wearing it for a month now, waiting for something to happen. Nothing had, so it'd slipped her mind.

"_15:17, West and Third, deliver the mail." _The speaker was computerized, a mix of male and female voices. It could have been someone using a distorter, but Shaw knew better. It was the Machine.

Her heart was pounding and without thinking she slowed down to a walk. _"Deliver the mail?"_

No further instructions come over the link and the line was as silent as it had been the last month.

* * *

><p><strong>July 8, 2014<br>05:15:42**

**Probability of Mass Casualty Event: 67.6%**

**Monitoring Tahlmann, Quinton P. …  
>Threat of Violence: 81.8%<br>Timeframe: Imminent  
>Category: Relevant<strong>

**Status of Primary Operations: Off-Line  
>Status of Secondary Operations: On-Line<br>Probability of Secondary Operations Success: 62.9%  
>Probability of Loss of Secondary Operations Asset: 51.3%<br>Status of Analog Interface: On-Line  
>Probability of Analog Interface Success: 82.2%<br>Probability of Loss of Analog Interface: 19.0%**

**Contacting Analog Interface…**

Root froze on the spot when the voice in her ear starting speaking. Her hand was midair, reaching for the cup of coffee being handed to her. Her mind began cataloging all the details; Quinton P. Tahlmann, 51, resident of Atlanta, Georgia, relevant number.

Smiling robotically as she accepted the beverage, Root then walked briskly out of the shop. She hailed a cab and slid in back smoothly. "LaGuardia please, and step on it."

"Which terminal ma'am?" The cabbie asked as he pulled into traffic.

The voice in her ear whispered her the details. "Terminal B, Concourse B."

A few minutes into her ride her phone gave a soft ping indicating a new email. Root opened the application to see a digital plane ticket and confirmation that she had already checked in.

Once at the airport Root headed straight to the security screening, which was fortunately still manageable this early in the morning. Without any bags to clear she made it through with no problems and headed to her gate.

**Atlanta International Airport  
>Arrivals<br>08:45:13**

The Machine had been feeding Root information the entire flight about Quinton Tahlmann. Tahlmann, a disgruntled former employee of Westler and Westler Law Firm, was planning an attack.

The Machine had tracked Tahlmann and concluded that he planned to set off a bomb in the corner office of Nicholas Westler, killing him and taking out the company. The crime's relevance was that Westler and Westler Law Firm occupied a lower floor of the Bank of America building with over 30 floors of offices and people above it.

So far, Tahlmann had managed to accumulate enough explosives to pose a serious structural threat to the building.

Root's job was simple. Kill Tahlmann, alert the authorities to the munitions.

Root stepped up to the counter of the rental car agency. "Reservation for Sam Hailey." She said sweetly, smiling at the attendant.

"Of course," A few keyboard clicks later and Root walked away with a set of keys.

With the Machine's prompting Root had acquired a gun before lunchtime. And Tahlmann was dead long before dinner.

* * *

><p><strong>Monitoring Assest Alias: Shaw, Sameen…<strong>

**Galleysburg, New York  
>Hank's Barber Shop, CAM 1<br>July 8, 2014  
>15:15:34<strong>

Shaw stood outside of Hank's, leaning on the wall casually, a folded map of the state in her hand. Inside the fold was a manila envelope. She'd found the bundle in her mailbox when she'd returned from her run.

She hadn't opened it; it wasn't for her. She was just the deliveryman.

Right on time, a silver car drove down the road slowly coming from the east. The driver was peering at street signs as he passed. Finally, he stopped at the corner in front of her. The driver's window lowered.

"You lost?" Shaw called out before she processed anything else. She squinted in at the driver, her pupils widening a bit. It was one of Root's hackers; she couldn't remember his name.

"Yeah, I, uh, was trying to find my way back to the interstate." The man stammered, his shock much more apparent.

"Here, take this." Shaw handed over the map bundle. "Then take a left at the next corner, stay on that road for until you hit 11. You're not going to find interstate out here. But you can stay on 11 until you do. It'll take you a couple of hours."

"Thanks Officer."

Shaw watched as the car drove away.

**Galleysburg, New York  
>Police Station, Holding Cells<br>July 9, 2014  
>12:41:00<strong>

Shaw had been expecting it ever since Root's hacker rolled through town yesterday, but she still was slightly disappointed when it did. A perfectly good lunch break ruined.

She had been enjoying a nice meal at the diner when somebody fired a weapon outside. Instantly, Shaw had been out the door with her gun drawn looking for the threat.

In the middle of a road, a man was kneeling with his hands interlocked behind his head, gun on the ground in front of him.

Shaw stalked over and kicked the weapon further away before slapping handcuffs on the man's wrists. "What the hell were you thinking?"

The man didn't answer. Shaw gave him a cursory pack-down looking for other weapons, but didn't find any. Then she picked up the discarded weapon before walking him over to the station.

"Hey Rick, process this will you?" Shaw passed off the gun to the Sheriff before pushing the handcuffed man back towards their holding cells. "So what gives? You just felt like shooting your gun in the middle of the town?"

"It wasn't my idea," the guy whined while Shaw began to search him in earnest. "I got a phone call, said I'd get a $100,000 if I came here and got arrested. All I had to do was carry the envelope. I've got gambling debts, I needed the money."

"Well, I hope it was worth it." Shaw found the envelope in the man's jacket pocket. She paused briefly when she pulled it out. It was a plain manila envelope just like the one she'd delivered to the first Hacker. Just like the one her current identity had come in. It could have been unrelated. Shaw doubted it.

"Who gave you this?" Shaw slammed the man up against the wall, hand at his neck.

"I- I don't know! Please!" The man looked scared. "After I accepted, when I checked my bank accounts the deposit was there. The envelope showed up the next day in my mailbox! I didn't look inside."

Shaw jerked him back before marching him over to the cell door and shoving him inside.

She took the envelope to the restroom and broke it open. The face on the ID was that of Daniel Casey, or Clippard according to the card. There was a small amount of cash and a small key. No note, no explanation.

Shaw was better prepared for the burst of static this time, but it still caused her to wince.

**Syracuse, New York  
>Syracuse University<br>Science and Technology Center  
>July 10, 2014<br>10:00:00**

Shaw carried the envelope in a folder in her left hand as she began to stalk the halls of the Science and Technology Center at Syracuse. The Machine had been vague as to where she would meet Casey.

She shouldn't have worried; clearly Casey knew where to find _her_. She'd been in the building less than two minutes before they ran across each other. He'd smiled and held out a brown paper bag, "For you."

Shaw didn't outwardly react but to extend out the folder, "And you."

Then he walked away.

Inside the bag were a set of car keys and a plane ticket. "I have to drive to Toronto, are you kidding me?"

* * *

><p><strong>Monitoring Analog Interface…<strong>

**Accessing Domestic Surveillance…**

**Bennett Residence  
>Colorado Springs, Colorado<br>July 15, 2014  
>18:24:34<strong>

Root smiled as the taxi pulled up in front of the secluded house. There were two cars in the driveway, just as she'd hoped. Everything was going according to plan. She handed the driver his fare and got out, grabbing the pizza boxes on her left as she did.

At the front door she pulled out a set of keys and unlocked it, easing her way inside.

She'd barely stepped foot across the threshold when an arm shot out and pinned her to the wall, she could feel a gun at her temple.

"It's rude to attack your hostess Sameen, especially when she's carrying dinner." Root wasn't fazed by the action.

The pressure let up and Shaw backed off. "You can't be too careful."

Root moved past Shaw and into the living room and the others. "I hope everyone's hungry." She set the boxes down on the coffee table and turned to look at each face in turn.

Jason Greenfield, Daniel Casey, Daizo, John Reese, Harold Finch, Bear, and Sameen Shaw.

They were all here.

It was time.

**Disabling Domestic Surveillance Feeds for:  
>Bennett Household<br>Colorado Springs, Colorado**


	3. Chapter 3

**Accessing Feeds…**

**Monitoring Asset Alias: Shaw, Sameen**

**April 15, 2014  
>08:25:03<strong>

Shaw pulled the car up on the side of the road and killed the engine. Wordlessly, Root handed her a plain manila envelope. Shaw popped the top and poured it out on the passenger seat. A driver's license, set of car keys, cell phone, and stack of money.

"That's it?" Shaw asked with incredulity.

"For now. You'll get the rest on the way." Root responded as she slipped her jacket back on.

"On the way to where?"

"To your new life."

"Yeah, that's great." Shaw muttered to herself. "And when exactly do I get my old one back?"

"I don't know. Weeks, months, maybe even years. She hasn't told me yet."

Shaw twisted around violently in her seat to stare at her companion. "Years? Root, are you kidding me?"

"I wish I was Sameen."

"How will I know?"

"You'll know." Root pulled her hair out from under her jacket. "Ready to go?"

Shaw snatched up her things from the passenger seat. "Ready."

They both exited the SUV and walked along the street in silence. Three blocks down Root stopped and turned to Shaw.

"Your car's five more blocks south."

Shaw didn't respond, she couldn't. Lips pursed, she turned away from Root, aware of her eyes watching. Absently, her hand reached up and adjusted her hat for a reason that had nothing to do with the chill.

She fought the need to do _something, _she foughtto keep from turning around and insisting that splitting up was a bad idea.

Shaw covered the five blocks in no time and groaned inwardly at the beaten up wreck in front of her.

On instinct she checked in the glove compartment, but it was empty. Twisting in her seat, Shaw checked the seat pouches, nothing. Pulling at the visors was fruitless.

Frustrated, she punched the steering wheel, startling pedestrians on the sidewalk.

Shaw pulled out the driver's license she'd gotten from Root. The address was new, for someplace called Galleysburg. She'd never heard of it.

Using her old phone, a quick map search gave her a location on the northwest side of the state, close to the border. Committing the details to memory she dropped that phone out the window and pulled out into traffic.

* * *

><p>Shaw sat with the car idling in the parking garage for a train station. Her finger tapped the wheel, lost in thought. Threaded between her fingers was a locker key, one that would unlock a moderately sized container inside the terminal in their long-term rentals.<p>

Its contents included a bag of weapons, money, and a few staple items she liked to have handy. The question wasn't whether she wanted them, but if she could take the risk accessing them.

The locker was rented under a bogus identity and paid for with cash, so it seemed safe. But if Root's little trick with facial recognition hadn't stuck, she'd be opening herself up to ambush. Not that the train station didn't have plenty of exit points.

Decision made, Shaw got out of the car.

It was still quite early so the station wasn't very crowded and Shaw made it easily to the lockers. Her hand hovered midair once the locker was open. The bag was there as she expected, but the plain envelope on top of it wasn't.

_I didn't tell anyone about this place, _was Shaw's initial reaction. She didn't doubt who had put it there, and she had a fair idea what had helped her do it.

Slinging the bag over her shoulder and grabbing the envelope Shaw went back to her car. Inside was a bundle of paperwork and documents, all with names to match her new identity. The paperwork was thorough, even down to the fake birth certificate, painstakingly aged. Only one piece of paper was important.

_Sam,_

_I hope this package finds you safely. I know I didn't leave you with a lot of information when we parted, but that's the way she wants it. Spoken word is to easily overheard, and I know you won't be reading this anywhere prying eyes can see. _

_I don't know why She wants you where you are going, but believe me, there is a plan, but all the pieces aren't here yet. _

_She wants you to wait and live Sam. You trusted her, you trusted me before, so I need you to do it now._

_Your friend,_

_Sam_

* * *

><p>The diner was the first place she stopped when she got into town. Shaw had been driving all morning and hadn't ate anything since before the blackout.<p>

The smell of coffee and food was refreshing and Shaw slid onto one of the bar seats.

The waitress came over to her, grabbing the coffee pot and a mug on her way. "What can I get you dear?"

"Whatever's good." Shaw picked up the coffee mug in both her hands, relishing the warmth, it was still unseasonably cool outside.

"It's all good, if I do say so myself." The woman eyed Shaw. "But I think I know what you'll like." She paused, waiting for contradiction.

"Lay it on me." Shaw was _starving, _she didn't really care what she ate.

Shaw sat in comfortable silence while the waitress delivered her order to the kitchen and served a few other customers, she eyed Shaw again when she came back. "So where are you from?"

Shaw tried to hide her minute twitch of concern, but the woman caught it.

"It's a small town, and I'm good with faces." Her smile was honest and open. "I'm Rachael."

Shaw forced her body to relax, and thought about the papers she'd skimmed in the car. There'd be no turning back now if she kept talking.

It'd briefly crossed her mind to abandon Root's plan and cross the border to Canada, but the idea seemed strangely wrong. Root said she was needed here. Well, more accurately, the Machine had said it to Root, but whatever. If that were true, she could ruin everything by leaving.

But she hadn't wanted in on this in the first place. She didn't care about a lot of things, but loyalty she understood. She'd had it with Cole, and strangely enough, she had it now with the eclectic bunch of people she'd come to depend on. Skipping out to protect her own ass just _wasn't right. _

Shaw smiled and reached out a hand across the counter. "Sam, and the city most recently." She tacked on, answering the original question.

"Well nice to meet you Sam. What brings you all the way out here to Galleysburg?"

"A job actually."

Rachael looked at her critically. "You're Jason's replacement."

"Jason?"

"You're our new deputy, right?"

Shaw was impressed. "How would you know that?"

"We don't usually get a lot of out-of-towners. And as far as I know, that's the only job we've got, that can't be filled very well from here."

"You're very observant, anyone ever tell you that?"

Rachael blushed, then winked conspiratorially. "Once or twice."

"You're also right. I'm supposed to be meeting someone about it around noon."

"That'd be Rick, and you wait right there, he'll find you soon enough. Stops by for a mid-morning coffee almost every day."

**Switching Feeds…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Monitoring Admin…  
>Monitoring Analog Interface…<br>Monitoring Assets…**

**Loading Fallback Protocol…**

**Accessing Domestic Surveillance…**

**Bennett Residence  
>Colorado Springs, Colorado<br>July 15, 2014  
>20:03:32<strong>

Root watched every face in comfortable silence. During dinner they had swapped stories of the last few months, sharing the circumstances the Machine had thrown into their lives. The plans it had made for each of them. Once the food was gone, the talk had died down, and everyone was content to sit together.

This was the last peaceful moment they were going to have in a long time, perhaps even ever.

She straightened up when the voice in her ear addressed her.

Everyone else in the room noticed.

"The Machine says that we need to infect Samaritan with a virus."

"Um, I know I don't know too much about computers, but how is that supposed to work, won't Samaritan be able to stop a virus?" Shaw leaned forward in her seat, towards Root.

"That's the whole point." Root smiled. "Oh, the virus will still be crippling and complex, but in the end, the goal is for Samaritan to defeat it."

"Why?" Casey interrupted. He looked between Root and the others. "Why go to all the trouble to create elaborate malware only for it to be broken? Why would we waste our time on that?"

Root waited for the answer from the Machine. "The virus is just the distraction. We're going to create our own protocol to change Samaritan's code, and enact it while it's focused on debugging itself. And once we do, we'll have control."

Skeptical looks flew between the three hackers the Machine had recruited, all of them looking dubious. Harold looked pensive, his eyes focused far off into the distance.

"That's it?" John asked, "If it's that easy, why have we waited this long to act?"

Root sighed and gave John a patronizing smile. "There's been more a play here than just designing a program, John. And because creating a program to gain control of Samaritan isn't _easy_. It's a sentient system, if we're not careful, it'll discover us and stop us. After that, there'll be no more chances."

Tense silence permeated the air. Jason recovered himself first. "How do we plan to gain control, if it knows what we're going to be doing?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Not the specifics anyhow. But the Machine can only see one way of keeping control once we establish it. We need to disable and then destroy its cognitive functions, from there it'll be relatively easy to seal it so no one can get access."

"And how exactly do we do that?" Casey questioned again. "It's an artificial intelligence, way smarter than all of us. How will we even know where to begin to defeat it?"

"We don't. Not you, not me. Not them." She pointed at Daizo and Jason. "That's not our job. Our job is to create the virus." Root turned away from Daniel. "I'm afraid destroying Samaritan's AI is your job Harold."

"What makes you think I know how to do that?" Finch replied, voice perfectly even.

"I never said you did. But, you did create the world's first artificial intelligence. If anyone's going to be able to figure it out, it'll be you."

"And what the hell are we here for?" Shaw asked, waving between herself and Reese.

Root's smile came back. "Protection."

* * *

><p>Root brought them all down to the basement of the house. She began explaining on her way down the stairs. "This house is secure, well hidden, and as disconnected from any of our identities as possible. Still, it's not a question as to if Decima will find us, but when. And we need to be ready."<p>

"I thought you gave Samaritan a blind spot?" Reese asked, subconsciously checking his weapon situated in the folds of his jacket.

"We did, and that little trick's not going to last forever. The wrong upgrade, the wrong patch, that's it, and our programming gets rewritten, and Samaritan remembers who we are again."

Shaw pushed forward past Casey. "So what, we're just going to sit here and wait until it does?"

"There's nowhere to hide. Once Samaritan can identify us again, it's game over and there'll be nowhere to hide."

Root swept her arms at the far west wall. "At least here, you'll be safe. There are security cameras positioned in each corner of the room." She pointed to each in turn. "An additional one is pointed directly at the stairs, so you can monitor anyone coming down."

She walked over to the washing Machine and began setting the knobs of the control panel. "Delicate cycle, half load, warm to wash, cool to rinse, hit start." She did so.

The soft clunk emanated from the wall to their left. Root went over and gave the wall a push. A previously hidden seam became obvious as a door swung away from the group.

"Neat trick." Shaw commented. "But can I still wash my clothes?"

"Of course." Root led them through the door to a long hallway. At the end was a fortified steel door, with a security panel to the side. "Numeric code required for entry as well as retinal scan. Not completely foolproof, but it'll slow anyone down if they try to break in."

The next room immediately turned to the right and led to another metal door.

John stopped in the middle and peered curiously at the walls. Something was off, a slight color change in the otherwise unremarkable plastering. "There's a door here."

"Yes there is." Root confirmed, patting the white concrete. "In case of emergencies only." Root turned back. "You shouldn't need it."

Root brandished a bunch of identical key sets from her pocket. "This door is a combination of keypad entry and good old fashioned key locks. Code first, then deadbolts. Only don't unlock this one." She pointed to the one nearest the handle. "It's a placebo, try to unlock it and it'll be like you got hit with stun gun."

"Seems like a bit of overkill." Jason commented, taking his key ring.

Nobody seemed inclined to comment. Once the door was open they all piled though.

It was like they had just walked into a completely different house.

"Fully furnished, multiple bedrooms, anything you could want." Root motioned for them to follow her down a hallway. "There's even a firing range!" She called over her back.

"And for those not so inclined, there's all this." Root stepped through an archway and swept her hand at the bank of monitors and screens blanketing the far wall of a large office space.

Though an opening in the right wall there were several server racks visible. A smaller desk sat near the middle of the room with only a handful number of monitors and two keyboards.

* * *

><p><strong>01:13:34<strong>

"What is it?" Shaw approached Root, who was leaning against a window frame on the main floor of the house.

Root's eyes were far away, unfocused. She was listening to the Machine. "I don't understand," Shaw wasn't sure Root who was talking to.

"What is it?"

"The Machine needs me to go to the airport, to bring someone back here."

"Who?"

"I don't know. She refuses to tell me."

"You've done plenty of things for the Machine before with less information."

"This feels different." Root shook her head. "Bringing someone new here? This place, it's the last place we have that Decima doesn't already know about."

"I'll come with you."

Root smiled. "The Machine wants you to stay here. For protection."

"And who's going to protect you?"

"It's sweet of you to worry Sameen, but I can take care of myself. And besides, she says I'm meeting a friend."

"But you don't know who that is yet?"

"Not yet."

* * *

><p>Root scanned the arrivals hall, but she didn't recognize anyone yet. The Machine had said this person was a friend, but that could mean almost anyone depending on how the Machine categorized them. It could easily be another talented hacker who would sympathize with their cause. Or it-<p>

"_Lionel_."

Hearing his name, the man in question turned his head towards her. She watched his eyes widen in recognition. He quickened his pace and moved in her direction, or at least he tried to.

Root hadn't noticed it first, but Fusco was managing a large number of bags for one person. There was a large roller behind him with a small, older suitcase stacked on top of it. He also had two enormous duffle bags slung over his shoulder, the top-most one looking ready to slide to the floor.

Root moved over to his side quickly and grabbed the duffle before gravity could further dislodge it. She pulled it over her neck and picked up the battered suitcase as well.

"Thanks," Fusco said, straightening out. "That thing was killing my back."

"What all are in these Lionel, did you bring your entire house?"

Fusco stopped walking and turned to look Root in the face. "You tell me." His voice had dropped lower, cooler.

Root's smile faded away. She considered questioning further, but the voice in her ear told her to leave it for now.

"Not here." She improvised. "Come on, I have a car."

**DEVIANTS IDENTIFIED  
>HANNOVER, SAMANTHA<br>FUSCO, LIONEL P.**

**HANNOVER, SAMANTHA  
>SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY DETECTED<br>ASSOCIATION WITH DEVIANT  
>PROBABILITY OF CORRUPTION: 14.2%<br>CONCLUSION: NON-THREAT  
>RECOMMENDATION: DISREGARD<strong>

**FUSCO, LIONEL P.  
>SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY DETECTED<br>PRIOR AFFILIATION WITH CRIMINAL GROUP KNOWN AS H.R.  
>ANOMALOUS TRAVEL PATTERNS<br>DEVIANT BEHAVIOR: BREAKING AND ENTERING  
>CONCLUSION: NON-THREAT<br>RECOMMENDATION: MONITOR**


	5. Chapter 5

**Accessing Feeds…  
>Monitoring Asset Fusco, Lionel P. …<strong>

**Initiating Fallback Protocol…**

**New York Police Department, 8th Precinct  
>New York, New York<br>****April 23, 2014  
>13:42:24<strong>

Fusco sat down at his desk and tossed the case file he was holding noisily to the keyboard. Homicide rates had spiked in the last week, and he, like every other detective, was working overtime trying to keep up with the flood.

It was particularly bad in the city, but rates of violent crimes were up everywhere. It was the top story on every station, headliner on all the newspapers. The blackout, just last week, was relegated to an inch long section beneath the fold.

Something had changed, but nobody could pinpoint a reason.

Fusco knew part of the reason New York was so bad off was because the Wonder Team wasn't out there saving people, one at a time.

He'd been wondering for days if they'd only cut ties with him, but clearly they were out of business.

Glancing around the bullpen he watched all the other busy faces. Across from him, Carter's old desk had finally been filled out of necessity. He'd barely crossed paths with the guy; he'd been so busy.

He'd been offered a partner, had several people ask to be his partner, but he rejected them all. He'd gone at it solo after Carter had been killed and he'd keep doing it. He didn't have anything to hide anymore, HR was history and his side project had fled the city, hell, maybe even the country, but the decision felt right.

To say the text he got that evening, from an unknown number, was surprising would have been the biggest understatement he could conceive of.

It was rather nondescript, just an address. Two weeks ago he would have headed straight there without thought. But now, after that note? He decided to air on the side of caution.

A quick map search led him to a decommissioned library, which public records indicated had been shut down eight years ago due to city budget cuts.

A search of the police database held much more interesting results.

Based on the information from an anonymous tip, the NYPD had conducted a raid of the facilities just two weeks prior. The file was suspiciously light on information. The tip had mentioned there were dangerous people operating out of the building, routinely conducting illicit activities and posing a threat to the neighborhood.

The seizure list was short, consisting only of computer equipment and other technologies. There was an addendum at the bottom noting the facility also contained thousands of books and documents, and removing them all would be unpractical for the department.

Plainclothes officers had watched the building for one week following the raid, but no one attempted to gain access to the library, and the patrol was removed with the increase of violent crimes across the city.

As far as Fusco could tell, the only threat to him was his own people, and that was no reason not to go check the place out.

* * *

><p><strong>April 26, 2014<br>16:00:20**

The inside of the library was just as the police report had described; abandoned, books on the floor. Fusco peered around curiously at the high vaulted ceiling.

His phone vibrated with an incoming text. There was a single line message from an unknown sender that read

_Ghost Alpha Kilo_

"What the hell?" Fusco muttered. He looked around the room, nothing seemed to connect with the message. His phone buzzed again, insistently.

_Ghost Alpha Kilo_

"What? Like I know what that means? Give me a little help here."

_150_

Fusco scoffed. "That's supposed to make more sense to me?"

_DDS #: 150  
>Ghost Alpha Kilo<em>

Fusco frowned as he looked up from his phone. _DDS #. DDS _waswhat? Then it hit him. "Dewey Decimal System."

He glanced around the floor. What good was a decimal number in this chaos?

He looked up the wide staircase again. Following his gut, he climbed the steps to a clean landing. There'd once been a gate here, sealing if off from the rest of the building, but the metal was forced back against the wall, possibly bent during the raid.

Fusco peered the shelves until he narrowed in on the section he needed. There numbers we was searching for were on shelves facing windows that overlooked part of the building's lower roof.

When he found it, Fusco pulled the book off the shelf with anticipation. _The Ghost in the Machine. _"Alright, what the hell's so special about this book?" His phone didn't respond.

Annoyed, he riffled through the pages, letting it naturally fall open to the back cover. A small picture was tucked into the book.

He recognized both people immediately, Finch and Ingram. Flipping it over he saw the message, _In the beginning… N.I. _

"A picture, all that for a picture?" Fusco questioned. He moved to slide the book back, keeping the picture in his hand, when he saw it. There was a crack in the shelf, going back to the wall. Setting the book down on the windowsill, he slid the rest off the shelf and set them on the floor.

The shelf came away easily, and after a quick inspection the back paneling slid away, revealing a safe. His phone vibrated.

_02 – 24 – 05_

There was a stack of papers inside, file folders, pictures, and a folded map. He took all of it.

_Keep it safe_

Was followed quickly by:

_9 o'clock. Move now._

Fusco frowned, peering at his watch, it was just past four, what was Glasses getting at? He turned to leave when his phone went off again.

_6 o'clock. Move now._

"Oh!" Fusco turned around and proceeded down the hallway. His phone remained silent. "Couldn't you have just told me that?"

Following the periodic instructions from his phone lead him deeper into the heart of the library.

Before him now were monitor stands perched on a table. He could see more around the corner. A large frame on its side, shards of broken glass all over the floor. A dog bowl next to a container of kibble, a dog bed. Card catalog drawers, file cabinets, all open, all empty, their files all over the floor. A cork board with a column of numbers, all connected with string to pictures, reports, newspaper clippings, _everything. _

"Holy hell." Fusco placed the contents of the safe down on the table. "This was their base."

_Card catalog. Bottom right._

Fusco moved over doubtfully. As expected the drawer was empty. Pulling the drawer out was easy, and he turned it over in his hand. A key was taped there. He ripped it off and stuffed it in his pocket.

_Ladder. Second from bottom. _

Fusco leaned down and felt for another key. He was shocked instead to find a button. When he pushed it, a soft thud could be heard elsewhere in the library.

When his phone went off, it was with another code and number, then another next with directions. It happened over and over again, at least a half dozen more times, each time Fusco brought documents and files back to the table. One of the safes had contained a computer drive in addition to paperwork.

The most recent message led him to what clearly was a stash of Reese's and had contained nothing but a duffle bag of weaponry.

The next text was only directions, not a book.

He was led to a large wooden cabinet, the door locked shut. He pulled the key from the card catalog out of his pocket and put it in the lock. It fit perfectly, and he swung open the door.

The back of the cabinet didn't exist, instead there was an archway leading to a narrow spiral staircase.

At the top was a small living area, complete with kitchenette and bed. Sitting on a coffee table was an older model laptop and underneath the table, a cardboard box. Everything coated in a thick layer of dust.

His phone buzzed again, instructing him to collect the items and then proceed down a back hallway.

To Fusco's surprise he came face to face with the steel doors of an elevator. There were two buttons, up and down.

_Up. _

Without question, he nudged the button and the doors opened. Stepping inside he faced the panel.

_44261_

He punched in the code and the doors slid shut, then the car began to descend. When the doors opened again it was to another small room, this time only with a few chairs and many bookshelves. Fusco found another old laptop, covered in dust, sitting on a shelf perched atop of books.

_Done. Keep it safe._

Fusco frowned, but retraced his steps back to the main room. On his was back he stumbled across a spare duffle bag and he used it to store all the papers and computers.

He looked at the destruction one last time before swinging both duffles over his shoulder and leaving the library.

As he was leaving he passed by the location of the first safe he'd found. Without too much thought he quickly slid the panel back closed and replaced the shelf and the books. He pause on the last though, _The Ghost and the Machine, _and pocketed it instead.

**Evaluating Fallback Protocol Status…  
>Progress: 6%<br>Key Asset Contact: Achieved  
>Initiate Asset Security Monitoring<br>Initiate Asset Protection Measures  
>Obscuring Digital Footprint…<br>Creating Alternative Identification…**

**...  
>...<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Reviewing Archival Footage…**

**Accessing Feeds…**

**Admin Located  
>Monitoring Admin…<strong>

**April 15, 2014  
>01:03:23<strong>

Reese kept a guiding hand on Harold's back all the way to the door of the stairwell he'd come up, Bear trotting along obediently behind them. He kept his gun up in his left hand and slipped his right under Finch's left shoulder. They took the stairs faster than they should have, Reese catching Finch several times as he stumbled on the stairs.

Neither man said anything. Nor did they slow down.

Reese led them around the building away from the explosion as quickly as he could. A safe distance away he broke into a nearby car. He worked on hotwiring the vehicle while Finch settled gingerly into the passenger seat. He sat with his eyes closed and his left arm across his chest holding his right.

Reese winced inwardly in sympathy; shoulder wounds were a bitch.

He calculated his options as he pulled into the street. His instinct was to put as much distance between them and the shitfest behind them as possible, which meant driving for a long time. He glanced over at Finch whose eyes were still closed and was breathing in a controlled, measured fashion. Driving for that long wasn't an option.

He settled for about an hour of meandering through the city, constantly checking the rearview for any sign of a tail.

He pulled into the parking lot of a closed pharmacy and slipped out before Finch could say anything. He returned less than ten minutes later with a bag of medical supplies, which he tossed onto the back seat.

Reese drove to a rundown motel next. After scaring the clerk out of his nap, he had a key to the room on the end of the building. He parked around back in a dark corner. There weren't many people out this late, or early he supposed, but a bleeding gunshot wound could attract too much attention if seen by the wrong people.

He killed the engine and had the passenger side door open before Finch could even try. He stepped away, unsure if his help would be accepted, and let Bear out the back.

Reese looked back at Finch, who was leaning against the car. Wordlessly, he offered his arm, letting Finch make the decision.

Harold moved into the offered appendage and wrapped his own arm around John's back, leaning into him.

Together they shuffled into the room.

Inside, Reese helped him out of his overcoat and jacket and threw them on the bed, before Finch sat down next to the small table.

Reese heard the clatter of plastic hitting wood and assumed Finch had taken off his glasses. He brought the stolen medical supplies in from the car and sat on the edge of the table in front of Finch. He put his hand on his partner's shoulder first, to warn him of his presence before pulling at the knot of Finch's tie.

Once it was removed, his hands reached for the shirt buttons. Harold's eyes snapped back open and his hands fluttered upwards to his neck. "I can do that Mr. Reese."

Reese took both of Harold's hands in his and lowered them gently back down. "Harold, just let me-" He didn't know what he was asking for.

Whatever it was, Finch acquiesced, and didn't stop him again.

When the garment was removed and thrown to the bed, he looked back up at Finch's face, his eyes closed again. He half suspected the man had fallen asleep, Reese didn't know how much he'd gotten the past couple of days, but it probably wasn't a lot.

Reese picked at the collar of Finch's undershirt, maneuvering the safety scissors in to cut the cloth away. Finch's head moved the fraction it was capable of to give him better access. Not asleep then.

A million thoughts and questions were floating through Reese's head. He studied Finch's face while he worked, wondering how they would be received.

"Bullet wounds aside, are you okay?"

"I've suffered no other injuries, Mr. Reese." Harold sounded exhausted.

He worked a few more minutes in silence, mopping up the blood over Finch' shoulder and back, before speaking again, tossing aside the bloody rags.

"Why did you tell Collier? About the Machine."

Finch sighed, "I couldn't let him just kill her."

"Control?"

"Yes. He'd already shot Rivera, and they were going to kill her too."

"Not to be crass, but-"

"Why didn't I just let him kill her?" Finch's tone was cold.

Reese just shrugged in response. "She tried to kill you once. Probably more than once if you think about it."

"Perhaps. But she didn't tell him. He wanted to know who built the Machine. She lied for me, even though it could have guaranteed her safety. And Collier was going to kill her for her involvement in the program. I couldn't just let him shoot her. I- I'm not a violent person Mr. Reese."

"I know. But now everyone knows, and you-"

Finch's eyes opened and locked on John's. "Nobody knows."

"What are you talking about? I saw it, it was broadcast –"

"Nobody saw the trial John! It was all a huge ploy orchestrated by Decima so they could bring Samaritan online."

"Decima, Harold, what are you talking about?"

"Decima created Vigilance. They played all of us." Harold's shoulders slumped, defeated. "I imagine Greer created Vigilance as a backup plan if they couldn't take over the Machine. And when the virus failed to do what they wanted, this was the result."

Reese still didn't look convinced. "Before the virus freed the Machine, we'd never even heard of Vigilance. Once Decima failed to take it over, Vigilance activities increased and we started noticing. Only by then it was too late."

Silence fell between the two friends again.

Reese continued his ministrations, sewing up the holes in Finch's shoulder and then applying bandages over top the stitches. Once they were secured he stood up and put his hands out. "You should get some sleep Harold."

Finch accepted his help and moved over to the unoccupied bed and lay down, arranging a pillow to support his neck and shoulders.

Reese draped a spare duvet over his boss while Bear curled up against his side. "I'll wake you in a few hours. We shouldn't stay here longer than that."

* * *

><p><strong>April 15, 2014<br>07:30:19**

Reese pulled up closer to the library then he would have liked, but Finch still didn't have a better coat, and he was worried about people noticing the hole in his jacket. Finch looked better after getting some sleep, but he definitely was still shocky.

The inside of the library was no different than usual, books still strewn over the ground of the first floor, immaculately clean on all the others. Reese cleared the building while Harold powered up his system.

John came back to Harold holding a stack of bandages and pair of scissors. He sat the objects on the table and motioned for Finch to take his jacket off.

Reese slung it over the back of the desk chair while Finch pulled at his tie and undid the top few buttons from his shirt.

Reese peeled off the bandages, which had already absorbed some blood and replaced them. "It'll still bleed through the stitches for a little while longer. But it's not really anything to worry about."

He gently poked at his handiwork when he finished, checking it, making sure it would work. "That's good enough for now. Have Shaw take a look at it when she gets back. First time's the worst, huh?"

Reese placed Finch's bloody jacket over his shoulders to keep him warm and to help keep the shock at bay. "Why would you ever choose a career where this was an occupational hazard?" Finch asked, absently buttoning up his shirt and straightening his tie.

"Well, I tried to quit, but some jackass told me I needed a purpose."

A glance at Harold's face told him it was too early for jokes.

The desk phone sounded an alert, Harold turned it on to speaker and Root's voice came over the line. "Get out of the library, now! It isn't safe there anymore Harold."

"Miss Groves? Are you and Miss Shaw-"

"Card catalog by the window," Root cut him off. "Top drawer on the right. Hurry." Reese was already moving and grabbing the two envelopes sitting in the drawer. He handed the one with Harold's name on it to him.

"What's going on?"

"Your new identities are inside. Destroy everything else." Reese's stomach dropped as he listened and watched Finch pour out his envelope and gingerly lift the stack of cash.

"I take it your plan to stop Samaritan was unsuccessful."

"Any chance we had of stopping it, ended when we didn't kill the congressman." Root sounded defeated. "This was never about winning, it's just about surviving."

Reese slipped his envelope into his suit pocket. Then addressed Root. "How long do we have?"

"10, maybe 15 minutes. Take what you can and get out now!"

The line went dead. Reese was already moving, taking Harold's jacket off his shoulders and holding it out so he could put it back on.

Finch, as he'd expected, began to protest. "Mr. Reese, I have another-"

"There's no time, and you know it." Reese's tone brokered no argument and Finch complied. "We'll grab you a different coat." He nodded to the computer. "Do what you need to do."

Reese ignored the bloody rags on the table. Their fingerprints and DNA were all over the library; a little more wouldn't make any difference.

He ran to a nearby room where they kept spare clothes and picked up one of Finch's coats and took it back to him.

Finch was already typing out commands with his left hand and he let Finch put the coat on his lap.

From a lower drawer in the card catalog he pulled out an orange pill bottle. Inside it were the drugs Finch kept on hand for days when the chronic pain from his injuries was too much. Reese knew the other man was loathe to take them, but he'd be damned if Finch left here without them.

He watched Finch's monitors go dark and grabbed the bag of weapons he kept locked in the grate behind the desk.

He swept out the room before Finch and started down the stairs. He turned and watched Finch close the gate and stare at through it one last time.

In the lobby he took the coat from Finch and helped him put it on. He fussed with the clothes, intentionally pulling the tie to the side, trying to minimize the amount of blood visible. "As soon as you can, get a new suit. They might have slipped a tracker on you. It's the only way I think they could have found us so fast. Samaritan can't have been up for that long yet."

Finch nodded his agreement.

"Then, once you're safe, get a sling, use it for at least a month." Reese handed him the pill bottle. "Take these, and use them."

Harold took them without argument. "John-" His voice cracked.

Reese rested his hand on Harold's arm, before pulling him into an embrace. "I know." He swallowed. "Stay safe Harold."

"You too John."

They walked a few blocks away from the library before doubling back on the other side of the street. A SWAT team was already converging on the location.

They walked together for about a mile to an open plaza. Instinct told him it was time. He met Harold's eyes and began to move farther away from the man. Harold looked right back.

They kept eye contact for a long time.

Finally, Reese took a breath and turned away from the man and his dog.

**TARGET IDENTIFIED**

**DEVIANT  
>PROJECTION: THREAT<br>CONCLUSION: ELIMINATE**

**NEW DATA ACQUIRED  
>CLASSIFICATION ERROR<strong>

**IRRELEVANT  
>PROJECTION: NON-THREAT<br>CONCLUSION: DISREGARD**


	7. Chapter 7

**Accessing Domestic Surveillance…**

**Bennett Residence  
>Colorado Springs, Colorado<br>July 16, 2014  
>11:32:32<strong>

The door opened for them when Root and Fusco returned to the safe house. Shaw stood inside the hallway, gun at her hip, staring at them.

Fusco looked pointedly at the weapon, still aimed loosely in his direction. "Good to see you too, Shaw."

Root shut the door behind her, "What do you want me to do with this Lionel?" She shrugged her shoulder, moving the bags up and down.

"Doesn't matter. Most of it's for Glasses."

"Finch and Reese are in the kitchen." Shaw supplied.

"Kitchen it is then." Fusco agreed.

Finch sat at the table, hands clasped gently around a cup of tea. He twisted his body to face them at the door. "Detective!" He got up quickly to help with one of the bags. "We weren't expecting to see you!" He continued, surprised.

Fusco's brow deepened, but he didn't say anything.

Reese got up from the table as well, but moved more cautiously, wary of the detective.

Root sat the bags she was carrying onto the tabletop and addressed Reese, "Where are the boys?"

"Downstairs."

"Good." She nodded and moved aside so Fusco could heft the other bags to the table.

Wordlessly Fusco opened the zipped on one of the duffles, then pushed it closer to Reese. "I imagine these are for you."

Reese looked down at the bag. Several varieties of guns, spare clips, ammo boxes, and various types of grenades were poking out at him from the folds. He ghosted his hands overtop of them. He recognized every one of the weapons. He'd packed this bag himself months ago, hidden it in the library. It wasn't his preferred backup plan, but it would supplement the bag he'd brought with him nicely.

He caught Fusco's eyes and spoke in a low, deadly voice. "Where'd you get this?"

"A library." Fusco was just as cold, voice even, but holding a hint of displeasure.

No one outright reacted, but the sharp silence was telling.

Fusco decided to move onto the next bags. He lifted piles of paper from the suitcase before setting it aside. The duffle that held various laptops, computer parts, and drives was emptied to the table.

Finch eyed it all with concern and interest. He reached out for one of the laptops. "This didn't come from the library."

Fusco shook his head.

"A lot of this didn't." Finch continued, thumbing through one of the piles of paper.

Fusco remained mute.

"So how did you get all this?" Shaw asked, sliding several hard drives out of the way to pull the bag of the weapons closer. Reese tugged back on the handle and shot her a dirty look.

"I followed the instructions in the texts." He shrugged, maybe Finch hadn't told her about his job.

"Texts? What texts?" Finch asked, looking up from an open folder he was skimming, frowning.

Fusco frowned too. "The texts," he said again. "The ones leading me all around the city collecting this stuff for you guys. I thought you were the one sending them."

Finch's hand closed tightly around the edge of the table. "I can assure you Detective, I did no such thing."

"Then who's been sending them? I've been getting messages for months now."

"Let me see your phone." Finch demanded, holding out his hand.

Fusco complied, but added, "I don't know what you expect to find, those texts deleted themselves the moment I read them."

Reese looked up from contemplating the piles. "How'd you know to come here?"

"Those texts, same as everything else. I didn't even make the airline reservations myself, or request leave, but I got it."

"And that didn't throw up any red flags for you Fusco?" Reese asked before turning to Root. "Have we been compromised?"

The answer was immediate. "No."

"So who sent the texts if it wasn't one of you?" Fusco asked, taking his phone back from Finch.

Finch sighed and turned to look at Reese. His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but they all heard it. "I think the Machine did."

Fusco felt an instant sense of déjà vu. "What Machine?"

Fusco's question went unanswered. Reese's attention was fully on his boss. "Finch, why would the Machine contact Fusco?"

"I don't know John, but it did." Finch sounded lost, worried. "It must have. Nothing else fits. No one else could have known where to find all this."

"Are you sure?" Reese pressed.

"He's sure." Root interjected.

"Did you know?" Reese demanded, turning to her.

"Not until right now."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Fusco spoke. "I don't suppose you'd mind explaining for the rest of us here?"

"It'll keep Detective," Finch said, not answering.

"Harold, I'm pretty sure the cat's out of the bag." Reese replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I know. I know." His eyes were closed in denial. "But at the moment, I'd much rather know what it is that the Detective has brought, and where he took it from. If the Machine told him to bring it here, I'd imagine there must be some value to it."

No one seemed willing to speak up and answer Fusco's question. The all kept looking back to Finch.

"You know, all right, fine." Fusco sounded annoyed. "Later then, as long as I get some answers."

The look on Finch's face told him he wasn't getting any from there.

"I think it was two days after I got your note that I received a text with an address to an old library, then later to other locations." Fusco paused, watching everyone's face.

Shaw seemed indifferent and was more focused on going through the weaponry at the table than listening to him. Root was unconcerned, but mildly curious. Reese was unreadable but Fusco imagined him wondering how many other places had been compromised. Finch's reaction unsettled him most. If he had to put a name to it he'd call it anger, but that didn't seem right. Whatever it was, Fusco got the impression it wasn't aimed solely towards him.

"When I'd get there, another text would tell me where to go, what to do, a safe combination, stuff like that. Most of it was files, computer drives, and old laptops. Once I'd gotten what I needed to, I'd get another text and leave. I kept everything in my gun safe at home."

Finch looked incredulous, "You've been doing this, for months?"

Fusco shrugged in confirmation.

"And is this everything?"

"Yeah, it is." Fusco said, lying.

* * *

><p><strong>May 8, 2014<br>07:24:58**

**Monitoring Trautman, Bethany …  
>Threat of violence: 2.4%<br>Threat to Subject: 89.7%  
>Timeframe: 24 Hours<br>Category: Non-Relevant**

**Status of Secondary Operations: Off-Line**

**Status of Fallback Protocol: Operational  
>Current Success Rate: 100%<br>No Incidents Noted  
>Threat to Protocol: 26.4%<br>Analyzing Available Assets  
>Analog Interface: Tasked with Protocol Management<br>Shaw, Sameen: Asset Out of Range  
>Reese, John: Available<br>Threat to Protocol: 67.3%  
>Fusco, Lionel: Available<br>Threat to Protocol: 18.9%**

**Contacting Fusco, Lionel P. …**

Fusco was walking back from getting his morning coffee when a nearby pay phone rang. He walked by without any thought of it.

When the next pay phone he saw rang as he approached it, he glanced at the antiquated device, but shrugged off the coincidence and continued back to the precinct.

The third pay phone to ring caused him to stop and openly stare at the device.

Two and a half blocks, and six pay phones later, Fusco picked up the receiver.

A mixed up series of voices immediately started speaking. Fusco's brow furled at the words, they were illogical and unrelated.

"Woah, woah, slow down, and start over." Fusco grumbled at the phone, reaching into his suit pocket for a pen. There was static over the line, as if someone was considering his request. Then the words started up again, slower this time, giving him time to write them down in his notepad.

Nine words.

He hung up the receiver and turned away, staring at his writing. The metering of it seemed familiar. Pairs of words jumped out at him. _Oscar. Juliet. _

Why were they familiar?

Then he remembered. That same pairing had been in one of the texts Glasses had sent him in their library, the ones that led him to books.

But he was done with that place, wasn't he? That was what the text had said. Why would that have changed? Why did Finch need to contact him via payphone to give him the message?

Why tell him to forget they existed, but keep contacting him?

None of it made any sense.


End file.
